


Life Could be a Little Sweet and Life Could be a Little Shitty

by only_because3



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_because3/pseuds/only_because3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a hot, sticky night, the whole city unusually quiet thanks to the rolling blackouts. Santana’s spread out uncomfortably in the middle of the bed while Quinn stands in their shower, the water thankfully cold. “You should hop in,” she says, looking out the open stall door, rolling her eyes when Santana flips her off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Could be a Little Sweet and Life Could be a Little Shitty

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually two little drabbles I wrote for Quinntana week last year.

It’s a hot, sticky night, the whole city unusually quiet thanks to the rolling blackouts. Santana’s spread out uncomfortably in the middle of the bed while Quinn stands in their shower, the water thankfully cold. “You should hop in,” she says, looking out the open stall door, rolling her eyes when Santana flips her off.  
  
    “That shower is a fucking prison. You’d know that if you were the one growing this demon inside you.” Her hair is damp against her skin and she pulls it off the back of her neck, only slightly more comfortable than she was a second before.  
  
    “I would’ve if I could’ve,” Quinn calls back and then Santana hears the stall door close.  
  
    This pregnancy is officially reaching the point where Santana wants to scream at everything and she just wants it over with. If this was any other time, she’d get up and say she’s sorry for adding the last part (because that shower is hell now. She can’t even turn around without her belly hitting the wall or knocking over some sort of product), maybe even show a little physical appreciation for her girlfriend. But this thick humidity hangs heavy over her, keeps her weighed down and mute until she hears the shower turn off.  
  
    “I wanted to run something passed you,” she shouts, attempting to roll on to her side before she realizes it takes too much effort. “Have you thought about breastfeeding?”  
  
    “I thought you were against it because of your nipple piercing.” Quinn walks out of the bathroom, not a stitch of clothing or make up on her, a dripping towel slung over her arms. Her whole face is tinged pink due to her walk home but the raccoon’s mask of red stands out and Santana is about to force herself up and apologize when Quinn pushes lightly on her shoulder. Quinn lays the wet towel over Santana’s torso, her body instantly relaxing into the bed.  
  
    “I meant you,” Santana breathes out, feeling small drops of water trailing down various parts on her body. “Have you thought about breastfeeding our little heathen?”  
  
    Quinn glares at her, easing down on to the bed with her good leg. “I told you to stop calling him that. You’re going to give him a complex before he’s out… It’s bad enough he has you for a mom.” Santana punches her arm but lets it go because, yeah, they’re good. No need for any ‘I’m sorry’s. “What exactly do you mean?”  
  
    Santana points to her bedside table which is littered with essays she needs to grade, parenting magazines, and baby books, telling Quinn to grab the magazine on the bottom. “It’s called wet nursing. I think I dog eared the article.” Quinn starts scanning the page and Santana taps along the scars on Quinn’s leg, following each trail up until her palm is sliding across raised skin low on the blonde’s belly. Quinn breathes in, her hand coming to rest on Santana’s before lacing their fingers together. “I thought that… I dunno. Since you’re already feeling left out,” Quinn’s head pops up and Santana shakes her head before Quinn can protest, “Shut up. I know you’ve been feeling disconnected since you’re not carrying him. And this would be a win for all of us. Our kid gets all the nutrients he needs, you get bonding time, and we don’t have to rely on formula just because I don’t want to take my bars out every time the leech his hungry.”  
  
    “Well,” Quinn sighs, tossing the magazine to the floor, “I guess leech is better than demon.”  
  
    “So?”  
  
    A tiny smile creeps on to her face and Santana starts to warm up again. “Our friends are going to love both of us full of hormones.”

 

\--

Quinn isn’t moving next to her and god fucking damn it, she wants…  
  
    “You have to keep pushing,” the nurse says, voice stern but soft. Quinn snaps then, tells the woman to shut the fuck up and Santana’s hands that ache from clutching on to the side rails go up to cover her face. She can’t catch her breath, can’t hold it long enough like the doctor keeps telling her to, and she can’t see anymore. Everything is a blur, her vision completely lost as the tears continue to flood down her cheeks. She wants Quinn to touch her, hold her. She wants Quinn to stay as far away as possible because she promised that she’d give Quinn a baby and she’s failed. The one thing her girlfriend asked of her and she just-  
  
    Her throat feels like it’s bleeding, every sob and groan and scream tearing away at it. Someone, not Quinn, is whispering in her ear that she has to keep going, and then hands are wrapping around her calves, her legs being pulled further back. She shakes her head stubbornly and she can hear Quinn even though everything sounds so far away right now, shouting at them to give her a fucking minute.  
  
    “Calm down or-”  
  
    Her right leg drops for a second and then Quinn’s there, pulling her leg back far enough, her forehead coming to rest against Santana’s temple. “I love you,” she says softly and Santana’s face contorts, pressure building between her legs, her heart cracking just a little bit more.  
  
    Quinn’s fingers stroke her skin, tell her it’s okay. Santana knows it’s not but it gets her through the final push, the pressure between her legs replaced with a weight on her belly.  
  
    There is no crying other than her own.  
  
    The weight is gone and no. She wants him back. She needs more time. “Where-” Quinn presses a kiss against her head and Santana can feel her tears too now.  
  
    Everything feels like it’s moving too fast around her, like she’s stuck. She’s stuck in this bed, empty and alone, people brushing past her and not speaking to her even though she’s a _mother_. She’s _the_ mother here and no one is telling her about her son.  
  
    She’s been with Quinn for years now. They’ve talked about Beth but, god… Quinn never told her it hurt this much.  
  
    Santana doesn’t think she can take this feeling for as long as Quinn has.  
  
    Someone calls out the time. She will forever hate 3:28 pm.  
  
    She can’t really hear anything other than Quinn’s uneven breathing in her ear but when the nurse says something to her, Santana just opens her arms. “I want to hold him.”  
  
    He looks like Quinn does when she sleeps and she bites her bottom lip hard enough that she can taste blood. She cuddles him to her chest, nuzzles the brown hair on top of his head. “I’m sorry,” she cries and she’s not even sure who she’s apologizing too.  
  
    She kisses his too cold skin, her hands running up and down his tiny body in time with Quinn’s hand stroking her hair.  
  
    She wonders if they’d let her stay like this forever. The thought of him being taken away again makes her cry a little harder, clutch her son a little closer, and kiss him until…  
  
    There’s a noise. She thinks she might make it but then she feels Quinn tense next to her, the noise getting louder before she feels the tiniest bit of movement against her chest.  
  
    Suddenly a huge cry rattles her bones and she looks down in enough time to see dark brown eyes staring up at her before they close, another wail escaping her son’s lips.  
  
    She thinks Quinn might be laughing through tears next to her and when the nurses take her son away this time, his voice echoing in the room, Santana grabs Quinn’s shirt. Her hands fist in the fabric and she sobs against Quinn’s stomach, Quinn’s arms wrapped around her head. “You’re amazing,” Quinn repeats softly until their son is brought back over to them, his body slipping into Quinn’s arms.


End file.
